


The Fire at the Heart

by The13thBlackCat



Series: Maker, Know My Heart [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Bets & Wagers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cullen is filthier than he lets on, Extended Scene, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Relationship Discussions, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Sex on Furniture, improper use of that grease spell from Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23260600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13thBlackCat/pseuds/The13thBlackCat
Summary: You know it, you love it: the Desk Scene TM. And aftermath. And a lot of being disgustingly sweet to one another.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Maker, Know My Heart [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/485726
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen was in the middle of a meeting when Maenfen slipped into his office, as quietly as he could manage. He didn't go completely unnoticed, of course—Cullen himself paused, looking up in surprise, and when he did, so did some of his men. They glanced away once they saw it was only Maenfen, though—no doubt assuming the Inquisitor simply had business with his commander, once he was free—and Cullen cleared his throat softly, then picked back up where he'd left off.

Maenfen just smiled to himself from the spot he'd found at the far end of the room, watching Cullen and not hearing a word he was saying. He got the general tone, but that was all, and it didn't matter anyway: if there was anything being discussed that concerned him, Cullen would let him know. And, more than anything, Maenfen liked taking stock of him like this, noting all the little differences between _his_ Cullen and the commander of the Inquisition.

It wasn't a lot, he thought. Cullen was business-like and serious by nature, even with him. But he was...softer, when it was just the two of them. Generally more awkward, too—certainly less sure of himself. Either way, no matter how subtle the difference was, Maenfen liked to take note of it, so he could better appreciate it. 

Maenfen must have come in at the tail end of the meeting, though, because it wasn't long before Cullen dismissed his men. He followed them to the door, closing it behind them with a sigh, and leaned against the wood for a moment before pushing away and turning to address Maenfen. The elf had already moved from his spot, and he cocked his head inquisitively and was going to speak, but Cullen beat him to it. 

"It never ends, does it? Always something."

Maenfen's ears flicked. "Don't tell me you're missing Kirkwall, ser?" 

That comment earned a little laugh from his commander, though it was a bitter one. "Hardly."

Maenfen chuckled. It didn't sound amused either, to himself. "Somewhere else, then?"

"Mm." Cullen glanced away, thoughtfully. "Perhaps." He shook himself a little, turning his attention back to Maenfen and cocking an eyebrow at him. "I don't suppose idle chitchat brought you all the way over here, Inquisitor?"

Maenfen snorted in answer and stepped past him, making his way over to Cullen's desk.

"Maybe it did, commander." He turned, leaning back against the edge of Cullen's desk and breaking into a little smile. "...I wanted to see you."

Cullen's expression softened at that—minutely, but Maenfen knew him well enough to see it. He didn't answer immediately, following Maenfen. His hand reached out to brush against his desk, but stopped before touching Maenfen, and it seemed like a deliberate choice. He braced himself on Maenfen's other side—still not touching the elf, but keeping him there. Once, Maenfen might have felt trapped by the position, backed up against something solid by a templar— _ **ex** -templar_, he reminded himself, irritably—but not now. Still, it sent a thrill of...something, through him. He wasn't sure if it was nervousness, though.

"Did you, now?" Cullen was close—too close, probably—and his voice low.

Maenfen swallowed, and quirked an eyebrow. He didn't answer, though—not aloud. Instead, he reached up, decisively tipping Cullen's chin forward before he moved to kiss him, lightly.

Cullen hummed a soft, pleased sound against his mouth, and a hand moved to cup around Maenfen's face, lightly. Just like that, the tension was broken—mostly. Maenfen let out a short breath against Cullen's lips when he pulled away, tipping his head into his commander's hand. Cullen's thumb brushed against his cheekbone, then across his mouth when Maenfen tilted his head to press a kiss to his thumb. The human's expression was soft and thoughtful.

"Mae..." His voice had softened too, a bit. Maenfen hummed a questioning sound, looking up at him. Cullen's response sounded half-forgotten when he voiced it, like he was thinking aloud rather than truly asking Maenfen anything.

"What will you do, after?"

"After?" Maenfen's ears flicked at the word, and Cullen cleared his throat, softly. He pulled back finally—but only a little. He moved to lean against his desk beside Maenfen, crossing his arms—and, it seemed, deliberately not touching Maenfen again.

"I mean..." He took a breath, then let it out. "This war won't last forever, will it?" He didn't seem to want an answer, since he continued: "At the start, I hadn't thought of much beyond our survival, but now...things are different. I...find myself realizing there might be an after all of this, and...that is something that needs to be planned for."

_Oh. After._ Maenfen was quiet at the thought, staring across the room at one of Cullen's bookshelves and not seeing it. Like Cullen, he hadn't really thought that far ahead—the immediate future was too much to think about as it was. What happened after?

He knew what _should_ happen. They would restore order, and...Maenfen was uncomfortably aware of the Anchor, now, warm in his hand, and the dim pulse of his magic under his skin, throbbing in his blood like a heartbeat. It wasn't strong enough for him to notice, normally, unless it was reacting to his emotions, but now, he wasn't certain he could feel anything else.

_You have to go back._

He'd managed, for a while—staying with the Grey Wardens, as a Warden-recruit who mysteriously never had to undertake his Joining, not just yet. But that lie had been a temporary one, and now...he didn't think it was one he could pull off. People knew who he was, now. And mages belonged in Circles.

The thought made his mouth go dry, his throat tight. _You have to go back, Maenfen, after._

"...I don't know," Maenfen said finally, his voice soft. He wondered if Cullen heard the tight, trembly note of terror in it. He wondered if that had actually been there at all, or if he'd only imagined it.

Cullen's hand closing around his shook him out of his thoughts, and Maenfen glanced at him, startled. His expression was thoughtful, but his brows had pulled together into a subtle frown. Maybe he had heard, after all.

He reached up, brushing his thumb across Maenfen's cheek. "I...Maenfen. Let me be clear." He took a breath, closing his eyes briefly, then let it out before opening them again to meet Maenfen's. "I don't...want this to end. Us." He hesitated after the last word, like he wasn't certain he should have said it, then shook his head slightly. "Not now, or later. Not even...after. Whatever it takes. Alright?"

Maenfen swallowed, his ears dropping. He didn't realize he'd started chewing on the inner edge of his lip until he had to let it go.

"Neither do I, Cullen." He took a breath, letting it out in a quiet rush. His thoughts flickered back, for a moment; to when Aetir had told him why he was keeping Maenfen out of the Ferelden Circle— _"Cullen made me promise"_ —and to his phylactery, that Cullen had almost destroyed in Kirkwall, years ago, before he'd even left the Order—now likely tucked away somewhere safe in this very room, in case he ever needed to find Maenfen again.

"...whatever it takes."

Cullen nodded, once, before he reach up to cup his hands around the back of Maenfen's head, pulling him forward to bump his forehead against the elf's. "I kept you out of the Circle once, Maenfen," he said, his voice soft, "and...Andraste preserve me, _I will do it again_ if I have to. _Whatever it takes._ That's a promise." Before Maenfen could answer, he pressed his lips to the elf's in a gentle kiss, sealing it.

Maenfen's breath shook a little when Cullen broke the kiss— _a promise_ —and he found himself fumbling for Cullen's face, pulling him back to kiss him again before he could notice the change in his breathing. This time wasn't gentle: it was firm, open-mouthed and pointed. _Whatever it takes._ He wasn't going to lose this, not again. The mere memory of having to leave Cullen behind in Kirkwall hurt, dull and distant—having to do that again would destroy him, surely.

Cullen made a muffled noise into his mouth, his fingers tightening in Maenfen's hair for a moment, in surprise. He didn't try to pull away, though, and when Maenfen pulled back, Cullen only let him do so for a moment before kissing him again.

Maenfen's breathing was hard when they finally did separate for a moment, but he wasn't certain if it was the emotion or the kissing that had brought it on—either option was just as likely. He'd gotten worse at stuffing his feelings down and ignoring them, and he'd certainly not gotten any better at dealing with Cullen. Two years he'd spent with only memory and regret and a certainty he would never see Cullen again, only to find him again after all...just to find out neither of them knew how to react to one another, now, after everything. It felt like a lifetime.

But for all that may have changed, some things hadn't—like the way Cullen looked at him now, his breathing hard and his eyes dark with an intensity that made Maenfen...well, feel a lot of things, very acutely and almost overwhelmingly. He swallowed, pulling Cullen back to kiss him again, because that was easier than letting the human just _look_ at him like that.

...almost. Except Cullen kissed him hard, firm and possessive in a way that made Maenfen feel like so much useless jelly. Any other time, he would have known what to expect from a kiss like that, and Maker help him, he'd be lying if he claimed he didn't want it so badly that he couldn't _think_.

But they'd agreed to take things slow, this time. To do this—all of this—properly. _Relationships_ were new for Maenfen, and new was scary—he didn't know how to approach them, and he was desperately certain he needed to do it _right_ , especially with Cullen, of all people. He hadn't learned this part, though, and he was certain it would be all too easy to ruin, and _this_ , he promised himself, he _would not ruin_. So, slow. Because that's what they had agreed on, because it had been sensible, and because Maenfen had wanted, more than anything, to prove he could do this _right_.

Even if all he wanted _now_ , more than anything in the world, was for Cullen to fuck him completely senseless.

He let out a short breath when Cullen pulled away, and it sounded protesting. Cullen's hands went to his hips—Maenfen's breath caught—and tightened around them, the instant before he lifted the elf just enough to set him on top of his desk. Maenfen made a surprised sound, catching himself on Cullen's shoulders when he stepped forward, his hands moving to Maenfen's thighs to spread them apart so he could get closer and kiss him again, firmly. This kiss was short, though, before Cullen bumped Maenfen's chin aside so he could kiss his jaw instead—and then his neck, briefly catching a bit of the elf's skin between his teeth.

That made Maenfen's breath audibly shudder, his hands clenching painfully tight against Cullen as he tried not to moan aloud. _Too much,_ he thought, numbly, his mind too distracted by the way Cullen moved on, pressing another sharp, nippy, distracting kiss below the first. _Too much too much too much, stop him before this gets awkward—_

He tried, weakly, to put some space between them, fumbling with one hand to find space to brace himself against Cullen's desk so he could lean away. His fingers brushed something—smooth glass—and pushed it aside.

The shattering of glass was so sharp and sudden that it was enough to make them pull apart, Cullen's hands still on Maenfen's thighs as he looked for the source of the sound.

It had been a...bottle, Maenfen thought, his face going hot with embarrassment when he figured out what it was that had so abruptly interrupted. He hadn't realized it had been that close to the edge of the desk.

" _Fuck,_ " he said finally, in a rush. "Cullen, I'm sorry, I didn't— I don't think—"

 _Well, you did stop him,_ Maenfen observed wryly, though his thoughts cut off when Cullen's attention went back to him. He wasn't angry—in fact, the corner of his _(stupid, pretty)_ mouth was crawling up in an amused smirk. He cocked an eyebrow, then moved. Before Maenfen had quite caught up, Cullen shoved everything else off the top of his desk with a crash—everything but Maenfen, who he kissed again, hard, pinning him down to the top of the desk in the space he'd created.

Maenfen made a muffled noise of surprise, his arms instinctively going around Cullen's neck to catch himself. When Cullen pulled away again to return his attention to Maenfen's throat, the elf arched his back with a short gasp, and before he could catch himself, a low, breathless moan. Cullen's hands tightened against him at that, and he pulled back for a second with a short, harsh breath—before kissing Maenfen's throat again, and again, and _again_ , short and sharp and sometimes more of a bite than a kiss. Maenfen was too overwhelmed to stop him or even _think_ —all he could manage was slapping a hand to his mouth to muffle himself and trying to _survive_.

When Cullen finally moved to kiss him—actually kiss him—he finally had a moment to think, briefly. About all he could think, though, was: _this isn't slow._

_And if they weren't doing slow any more..._

Maenfen fumbled for his face, his breathing coming hard when he managed to break away from him. " _Cullen,_ " he mumbled finally—his voice sounded thick and heavy with arousal to his own ears, and if he'd been able to think clearly, it probably would have been very embarrassing. "Shouldn't..."

"Don't care," Cullen cut him off, before kissing him again to silence any further protest. 

Any further uncertainties Maenfen may have had about Cullen's intentions were silenced a moment later, when his commander pushed his thighs apart so he could brush his hand up the inside of one—and then up between them, pressing against him. Maenfen's breath hitched in a short moan, his hips jerking against the source of pressure and his fingers clenching tight against Cullen—he was _embarrassingly_ hard, and the merest hint of Cullen touching him _(finally finally **finally** )_ made him forget everything else, for a moment.

"Cullen," he gasped again, his voice a strangled whisper—Cullen's breath caught, and he exhaled slowly, pulling back to look down at Maenfen with dark eyes. Maenfen had seen that look on his face before _(had tried so hard not to **think** about it, to **remember** , in the months since he'd first seen him again in Haven)_, and it did nothing to help matters whatsoever.

"You don't have to be quiet here, Mae," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal in a way that almost made Maenfen whimper. "This isn't Kirkwall."

"Habit," Maenfen answered, still a whisper, because he wasn't sure he could think of a better response—and if he'd wanted to, the way Cullen pushed his hand into him made him forget it.

"One we'll have to break," Cullen answered simply, his hand drifting. His fingers brushed up under Maenfen's shirt, and the elf's breath hitched. He pushed himself up, a little, briefly regaining control of himself enough to realize what was happening.

"Not _here_ ," he began, his voice harsh—more with need than anger. " _The guards—_ "

Cullen cut him off with a short, rough sound like a growl.

" _Let them hear._ " 

Maenfen blinked, wide-eyed and blank in the wake of the declaration, and the fierce intensity of Cullen's gaze. Cullen kissed him again, hard, and his hands moved: but only to grab Maenfen's hips firmly, pulling him to the edge of the desk. Maenfen made a short noise of surprise and alarm—until Cullen pushed his hips up between Maenfen's thighs, grinding himself against him, and the elf trailed off into a desperate little moan, unable to stop himself from tightening his legs around him to pull Cullen closer.

"I spent _seven years_ ," Cullen hissed against his lips, "pretending you were _nothing_ to me." A hand went to Maenfen's chin, and for all the ferocity in his gaze, his touch was gentle—firm, but gentle, holding Maenfen's head so he was forced to meet Cullen's eyes. "I'm _done_ , Maenfen. This time, _everyone_ is going to know."

Maenfen blinked at that, rapidly, but his brain felt like mush and words were too hard—all he could manage, after a moment, was Cullen's name, breathless and needy.

Cullen kissed him again in answer, his hand going back to Maenfen's waist to push his shirt up, and this time the elf didn't protest, just arching up into his touch and dragging his fingers through Cullen's hair. He pulled back after a moment, though—and when Maenfen's eyes flickered open, his breathing hard, he saw why. Cullen was still looking at him with dark-eyed _intent_ that made Maenfen almost whimper in anticipation, silently tugging his gloves off. He tossed them aside without a second glance, and when his hands went back to Maenfen, it was skin against skin.

Maenfen's breath hitched when Cullen's fingers brushed across his stomach and downwards, before hooking in his waistband. He whimpered, short and sharp, and Cullen made a soft noise.

"What did I say, Mae?" His voice was soft, gently reprimanding. "This isn't Kirkwall. You don't need to be quiet." Before Maenfen could answer, he added, his voice low:

"Tell me what you want."

Maenfen groaned, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair. " _Cullen_ —"

" _Tell me_ , Mae," Cullen cut him off—he was coaxing, but he was being unbearably smug about it. Maenfen didn't need to see the barely-suppressed smirk to know that.

He swallowed, hard, then wet his lips. Even though his face burned, he forced himself to meet Cullen's eyes, because if that was the game he wanted to play, Maenfen wasn't going to lose.

"... _touch me_."

It came out part plea, part command, and Cullen let out a short breath in response. He didn't answer, though, wordlessly loosening Maenfen's breeches and sliding his hand into them to close around him.

Maenfen moaned, louder than he meant, his hips jerking into Cullen's hand—his commander exhaled, short and hoarse, the murmured, mostly to himself: " _Maker's breath_ , you are beautiful." 

Maenfen tried to say something; he wasn't sure what, and it hardly mattered, because Cullen chose that moment to flick his thumb up the underside of Maenfen's erection in a short, sharp stroke that almost made him choke. He was in no hurry, though, seemingly perfectly content to go slow, until Maenfen was frustrated enough to forget all the years he'd spent teaching himself to stay quiet and was a helpless, moaning mess, his legs tight around Cullen's hips as he bucked up into his hand.

_Cullen remembered._ Years later, Cullen _remembered_ what he liked. _How often had he thought about it?_

" _Cullen,_ " Maenfen gasped finally, his voice shrill and his hand snapping down to Cullen's, "Cullen _please_ —"

It would have been so _easy_ to not stop him, but...Maker, that wasn't what he wanted. 

Cullen moved, bracing himself on the desk to lean over Maenfen. Maenfen moved to meet him, pushing himself up to kiss him, a hand going to the back of his head to tangle in his hair. The elf's free hand slipped down between them, brushing across Cullen's stomach briefly— _he was, very quietly, disappointed Cullen was in his armor, even if that was the norm, and at the firmness of metal under the fabric of his overcoat_ —before palming the bulge of his erection. Cullen huffed out a short, hoarse sound, pressing forward into Maenfen's hand and breaking away from him just long enough to say his name: " _Mae,_ " short and soft.

Maenfen didn't answer, just kissing him again and fumbling one-handed at his clothing. He had to concentrate, for a moment, once he'd gotten it undone, and was distantly aware of the shift of his magic under his skin as it focused on his palm. When he closed his hand around Cullen's cock, it was slick, and Cullen jerked with a short huff of surprise at the sensation. He seemed to catch up a moment later, though—maybe he had recognized the feel of magic against his skin—and the look he gave Maenfen was too amused to be truly reprimanding.

"That is _not_ how you're supposed to be using your magic, Mae," he teased, his voice low, and Maenfen just broke into a short laugh. _It would hardly be the first time._ He pressed a short kiss to Cullen's lips.

"Magic exists to serve man," he answered, breaking into a grin, and something sharp sparked in Cullen's eyes. He kissed Maenfen suddenly, _hard_.

"Do _not_ misquote the Chant to _me_ , mage," he retorted, and Maenfen broke into another laugh before pulling Cullen back to kiss him again. Anything further Cullen might have said, he cut off with a moan, low in his throat, a hand going to Maenfen's hips to pull him closer as he thrust forward into the elf's hand. Maenfen was vaguely aware that it was his left, and he wondered, for a moment, what the Anchor felt like to Cullen.

Before he could wonder too long, though, Cullen pulled away from him. Maenfen was going to protest, until Cullen took hold of his thigh, moving it. His fingers caught in Maenfen's breeches as they brushed upwards, tugging his clothing up—at least as much as he could currently manage. His hands went back to Maenfen's hips, tugging him forward so he was at the edge of the desk and adjusting him. His tipped his head to the side to press a brief kiss to Maenfen's knee, but his eyes—dark and soft, somehow both unbearably fierce and unbearably loving—hadn't left his face. Maenfen sucked in a short, harsh breath when Cullen moved, sheathing himself in him in a single motion.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," the elf gasped in a rush, his back arching off the desk for a moment. It had been so long, so _long_ , since he'd had Cullen inside him, and he'd thought he'd _remembered_ how he'd felt, _but_ —

Any further thought was cut off when Cullen's hips thrust back into him, _hard_ , and Maenfen gasped his name in a sharp yelp, fumbling to find some purchase on the desk. His hands ended up closing around the edges, just in time to brace himself when Cullen thrust back into him with a low groan. It wasn't quite _enough_ , a little awkward with the position and clothing and armor between them, but it would _do_ , and Maenfen wasn't going to be picky—and neither, it seemed, was Cullen, because evidently he'd felt the distance and time between them as acutely as Maenfen had. 

One hand left Maenfen's hip to close around his cock, and the elf jerked into Cullen's touch with a shrill, short, wordless gasp. He let go of Cullen's desk to slap a hand to his mouth, only to have it tugged away and pinned back down to the top of the desk, Cullen's fingers intertwined tightly with his own.

"If you don't stop doing that, Mae," Cullen growled, "those hands are going to get tied up."

Maenfen started to answer—even though the thought of _that,_ of Cullen tying him up and doing as he pleased with him, almost made him forget how to _speak_ —but only managed a short yelp when Cullen's hips slammed into him—then a moan he couldn't muffle, breathless and needy.

"Cullen, _please—_ " He couldn't manage the rest—not that he was entirely sure what he'd meant to say anyway—because the next thrust of Cullen's hips cut him off. Maenfen tipped his head back with a gaspy, strangled cry, his hand clenching around Cullen's—for a moment, until the human let go to take hold of his hip again to hold him in place.

Maenfen didn't try to muffle himself again, moaning wordlessly and clenching the edges of Cullen's desk. It was too much, too _much_ for him to handle after so _long_ , and he **_couldn't_** —

" _Cullen!_ " Maenfen came with Cullen's name on his lips, his head slamming back into the desk with a _crack_ and his back arching off it. He was dimly, distantly aware of the way Cullen's breath shuddered, his hand tightening around Maenfen's hip with a grip that was almost enough to bruise, but that was all fuzzy and unimportant compared to the way his hips slammed into him, a shock of sensation across Maenfen's already-frayed, too-sensitive nerves. The sound Cullen made when he reached his own climax—a low, deep moan, muffled in his throat—would've been enough to make Maenfen forget how to think, if he'd been capable of it at all.

He didn't realize he was trembling for a few moments, his breath coming hard and harsh and his magic pulsing under his skin, heavy and bright and warm, tingling in his fingertips and down his spine. Finally, slowly, other sensations made themselves known—most of all, a dull ache at the back of his head. _Oh,_ he thought numbly, _from hitting the desk._

Part of him wanted to giggle at the thought. _Oops._

Finally, Maenfen let his eyes flicker open. He started to move to push himself up, wetting his lips to say something, but something stopped him. He had loosened his grip on the edge of Cullen's desk, and when his fingers drifted, they found something that hadn't been there before: a sharp ridge in the wood.

The elf's eyes flicked over to it in confusion, just as his brain fuzzily caught up.

It was a crack, now marring the edge of Cullen's desk where Maenfen had been gripping it, and it was very nearly enough that an entire piece had broken off. Maenfen blinked rapidly, then sucked in a short breath in dismay when he realized.

_His magic._ He’d never lost control of it before, not like that, but that had been back in Kirkwall, when he spent so much time trying to suppress it and pretend it didn’t exist. He hadn’t been doing that in a while, now, and with his grip on his magic loosened…

“Oh, sweet Maker, Cullen, I’m so sorry!” He pushed himself up, ignoring Cullen’s puzzled grunt of protest, and twisted to examine the damage. It was small—relatively—and shouldn’t harm the desk itself very much, so maybe—

“I don’t think we’ll have to replace it, it’s not that bad,” Maenfen was continuing in a rush, afterglow forgotten, before Cullen sighed. He moved to adjust the elf and caught hold of his chin, pulling Maenfen forward to cut him off with a kiss.

“Hush, Mae.” He sighed again, bumping his forehead against Maenfen’s. “It’s alright. It’s just a desk.”

Maenfen was unhappily aware that he was flushed— _he should have better control than that!_ —and his ears had lowered. He didn’t meet Cullen’s eyes. “Still, I shouldn’t have, I… I’m sorry, I don’t know— Usually I can… I swear, I’ve _never_ —”

“Mmhm.” Cullen kissed him again. “Hush.” When Maenfen finally looked up, he was smiling, though he quirked an eyebrow.

“If you’re that concerned about it, Mae,” he continued, voice low, “maybe we should take this elsewhere?” He cut his eyes towards the loft above his office, which served as his private quarters. Maenfen’s cheeks burned, but his ears lifted a little.

“…why is that, commander? Is your furniture sturdier up there?” He couldn’t help the sly little smirk that crept onto his face, or the playful tone in his voice. That—joking about what had just happened—was safe.

“I’m willing to find out if you are,” Cullen answered with a grin, before pressing a quick kiss to Maenfen’s lips and pulling back to refasten his clothing.

Giddy and a little nervous, Maenfen followed his example, and took Cullen’s hand to slide off the top of his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen was already partway out of his armor by the time Maenfen made it up the ladder, and he was all too willing to let Maenfen take over, guiding the elf's fingers to straps and buckles as he pulled him into a kiss—firm, but sated, for the moment. Maenfen wasn't used to this armor, but by the time they got to Cullen's bed, he'd still managed to strip his commander down to little more than his breeches.

Cullen fell back onto it with a grunt, pulling Maenfen down with him. His hands went to Maenfen's hips to adjust him as Cullen let his kisses trail down over his jaw and to his throat, interspersed with gentle nibbles and the occasional sharp little bite. Maenfen's hands tangled in his hair briefly, then brushed down across his now-bare shoulders, tracing muscle and scars both old and new. Fuzzily, he thought: _will have to find all his new scars, now..._

Cullen hadn't made a move to undress Maenfen, despite his hands at the elf's hips and his thumbs brushing up under his shirt, against his skin. Maenfen had thought he was just being a tease, or wanting to slow down, but now... He tried to ignore Cullen kissing a trail down his throat so he could focus enough to figure out what was wrong. After a moment, he realized.

_The scar._ Cullen knew he didn't like having his chest exposed; of course he wouldn't try to do so himself, not without permission. Maenfen bit his lip to suppress a quiet giggle, wondering if Cullen was trying to distract him while he figured out a way around that obstacle.

Before he could do anything about it, though, Cullen pulled back, letting out a breath. His fingertips brushed the bottom buttons of Maenfen’s shirt, then stopped. For a second, he just looked up at the elf, dark-eyed and breathing slowly, then said, his voice rough:

“May I?”

Something twinged sharply and not-unpleasantly in Maenfen’s chest at the request, and his throat went tight. Biting his lower lip to try and distract himself from it, he simply nodded.

Cullen let out a short breath through his nose, pulling Maenfen forward to kiss him and squeezing his hip briefly. He didn’t start undressing him, though; not until he’d pulled away from the kiss and his gaze could go to his fingers as they loosened one of the buttons. He was intent and focused, like this was something that deserved his full attention; Maenfen’s ears dropped and he felt himself flush at Cullen’s intensity, but he didn’t shy away, because he knew that would send the wrong message right now. 

Despite everything, his breathing picked up as Cullen’s fingers got to his ribs, and higher; there was a tight knot in his chest, anxiety and anticipation twisting together into something that made breathing difficult. Cullen hesitated briefly, just below his collar bone, and his eyes flickered up to Maenfen’s, seeking confirmation that it was still okay; the elf’s cheeks burned, and he nodded again, wondering what he looked like to Cullen right now.

He tried very hard to ignore the hammering of his heart when Cullen finished undoing his shirt and slowly slipped it off his shoulders. For a moment—a single, absurd moment—Maenfen felt unbearably _bare_ , the air obscenely cool against his skin, and it was all he could do to keep from reflexively shielding his chest; he managed to ignore the urge, though, clenching his hands tightly against Cullen’s shoulders instead and biting his lip so hard it hurt.

For a moment, Cullen’s gaze drifted—to the brand, fainter now, but still so obvious in the center of his chest—before moving on. His expression was unreadable, but he let out a little breath—heavy, shuddering—and his hands went back to Maenfen’s hips, squeezing lightly before sliding around his back. He pulled Maenfen down to kiss him, firmly.

“ _Maker’s breath,_ ” he whispered once he’d pulled back, his voice breathy and shaking, “you’re even more beautiful than I remember you.” Maenfen let out a breath at that, short and relieved, and broke into a smile before grazing Cullen’s lower lip with his teeth, playful.

“You’re exaggerating, ser. Besides, you said that already.”

“It can never be said enough,” Cullen responded in a murmur, before pressing a kiss against Maenfen’s throat that made the elf arch his back. Maenfen bit his lip, but couldn’t hold back a giddy grin at that response.

He pushed Cullen back a moment later, onto his back, pressing his hands down against his chest to hold him still; Cullen exhaled slowly, shifting under Maenfen to get comfortable and rolling his hips upwards so that the elf had to suck in a harsh breath between his teeth and fight the urge to grind back down against him in response. Cullen didn’t say anything, but the dark look in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he breathed, and the way his hands had closed around Maenfen’s hips said too much on their own; Maenfen let out a little moan at the sight before he could catch himself, then flushed when he realized he had.

He bent to kiss Cullen before he could say something about it, sliding his hands up to tangle in his hair and letting out a harsh breath through his nose when Cullen moaned into his mouth, soft and rough. His hands had shifted from Maenfen’s hips to his backside when he moved, squeezing and kneading for a moment before one hand slid upwards, his fingers sliding into the indent of Maenfen’s spine like they belonged there. He caught Maenfen’s tongue between his teeth when that hand slipped down across his side and stomach, a soft caress to contrast the sharp bite.

Maenfen let out a harsh breath, pushing himself upwards into Cullen’s hand and arching his head back to bare his throat for him; Cullen was all too willing to take advantage of both offers, covering Maenfen’s throat in rough, short kisses as he slid his hand down between his legs to cup around him. The elf inhaled sharply, making a muffled noise in his throat and grinding himself into Cullen’s hand; the commander answered with a low little growl of a sound against his skin before he pushed Maenfen off him, rolling him over onto his back and catching him in a firm, demanding kiss.

He all but yanked Maenfen’s breeches open, closing his hand around him and allowing Maenfen to break away from the kiss only long enough to gasp, briefly, before he was kissing him again. Maenfen’s nails dug into his shoulders as he arched his hips upwards against Cullen’s hand, moaning into his mouth; Cullen pulled back long before the elf wanted him to, but Maenfen almost forgave him when he realized it was only so he could get him the rest of the way out of his clothing.

He was blushing fiercely again when Cullen returned his attention to kissing him, and fighting the ridiculous urge to cover…something. _Everything_. Cullen had _seen_ him naked before, dammit, to say _nothing_ of the fact that he’d just taken Maenfen on his _desk_ in front of the Maker and everyone not half an hour ago. 

But it hadn’t been like this. 

It had been a rare thing, in Kirkwall, for Maenfen to ever be out of his robes, and he’d always been on his stomach then, or under a blanket, or something; _this_ was so much more bare and vulnerable.

The kissing helped, though. It was doing a very good job of distracting him, especially when Cullen returned to his throat. It was easier, now—easier to forget how exposed he was, like this, and easier to forget there was anything he might want more than the man above him. The elf’s back arched, a low, heavy moan forcing its way past his lips and his thighs falling open: it was an invitation that Cullen gladly took, pressing himself against Maenfen before rocking his hips slowly against him.

“ _Cullen._ ” Maenfen gasped his name before he was consciously aware of deciding to do so. He swallowed, dragging his fingers through Cullen’s hair before continuing, breathless, “Cullen, please.”

Cullen made a rough sound, then exhaled shortly against Maenfen’s throat. “Maker,” he breathed in response, a little hoarse, “I could listen to you beg all night.”

Maenfen bit his lip at that. _Could you, ser?_ “Cullen, _please._ ” He let out a hoarse breath, then gasped, arching his hips up, “I want you. Sweet _Maker_ , I want you _so bad_.” Then, rougher, “I— _No._ I _need_ you, Cullen, ** _please._** ”

“You know just what to say,” Cullen answered with a little laugh before kissing Maenfen, hard, and pulling away from him enough so he would have room to get the rest of his clothing off. The elf shoved him back before he could, though, onto his back; Cullen grunted briefly, then dragged Maenfen back to kiss him again as the elf’s hand went to his hip, then slid between his thighs to rub against him before loosening his breeches.

Cullen started to move again once they’d gotten them off, but Maenfen’s hand went to his shoulder, holding him still; for a moment, Cullen cocked his head, puzzled, until the elf moved to straddle his hips, bracing himself against his commander’s stomach. Unexpectedly, Cullen’s breath caught, his hands going to Maenfen’s thighs and his eyes dark.

“ _Oh_ ,” was all he said, breathed out in such a low, soft voice that Maenfen almost didn’t catch it. The elf hesitated, very briefly, unsure how to handle the reaction, until he realized.

He’d never ridden Cullen before.

And, evidently, it was something he _should_ have done, judging by this reaction.

Wetting his lips, Maenfen slid a hand between them to close around Cullen’s erection, stroking it slowly a few times before he guided it into himself. His let out a low moan at the same time Cullen tensed, his breath catching, then slid down around him, taking Cullen in more slowly and deliberately than he needed to. Cullen had bitten into his lip, now, his breathing coming hard, and his hips arched upwards, his grip tight on Maenfen’s thighs; Maenfen pulled away when Cullen tried to push deeper into him, though, the corner of the elf’s mouth quirking into a smug little smirk. He wasn’t used to having Cullen at his mercy like this, and it wasn’t something he was willing to give up just yet.

Cullen made a hoarse sound, desperate and frustrated and growled out between clenched teeth, but he didn’t move again; Maenfen rocked his hips teasingly, then slid down onto him again. This time, he didn’t stop until Cullen's cock was fully sheathed in him, as deeply as he could go; Maenfen’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a low moan, hoarse and ragged.

"Sweet _Maker_ ," he managed finally, in a tight whisper as he rocked his hips against Cullen, slowly, taking his time to savor the feeling. His breath hitched sharply, and the elf let it out in a low moan; a moment later, his eyes flickered open to look down at Cullen. His voice shaking, he said:

"Do you know how _long_ I've thought of this, Cullen?" His breathing was coming in gasps, shuddering every time he slid back down onto Cullen's cock. "Weeks. _Months_ , I've spent, _imagining_ this: imagining having you—" He bit his lip with a sharp whimper, then let it go, trying to continue: "H-having you in me again, seeing what your limits are, and how— _ah_ —how _far_ I can push you, until you can't—" His breath jumped, catching for a moment before he continued, "Until you can't _stand it_."

Cullen didn't answer, but he exhaled, short and sharp. He understood the rules now, though: his hands went to Maenfen's hips suddenly, his grip tight, before he pushed the elf back onto him, snapping his hips up into him _hard_ and driving a short cry from Maenfen's throat.

" _Ooh, **yes,**_ " Maenfen purred, before Cullen's hips bucked up into him again and cut him off. Cullen let go of his hip with one hand so he could brace himself as he pushed himself up, just a bit.

"Is that what you want, Mae?" His voice was low and harsh, his breathing hard. "You want to know how _badly_ I've _needed_ you, ever since the first time I saw you in Haven?"

Maenfen could only whimper in response, biting down on his lip and barely managing a short, sharp nod. _Yes. Yes, yes, yes, **please.**_

"Every _day_ ," Cullen growled, punctuating the emphasis with a sharp jerk of his hips, "I've wanted this, wanted _you,_ so badly I _couldn't think._ " He let go of Maenfen's hip with one hand, closing it around his cock instead in a short, firm stroke, jerking his hips in a way that made Maenfen choke out a gasp. _Oh, Maker, **right there—**_

"So many times," Cullen continued in a hiss, breathless, "I thought about it—thought about getting you somewhere private and _fucking_ you until all you could say was _my_ _name._ "

" _Cullen—_ " Maenfen began, his voice shaking, but Cullen cut him off with a low moan.

" _Just like that._ "

The elf gasped out a short breath, canted his hips, trying to simultaneously thrust into Cullen's hand and back onto his cock. He fell forward, catching himself against Cullen's shoulder, then hissed, breathless:

"Tell me." Before Cullen could ask for clarification, Maenfen moved, leaning forward to pant: "Tell me _where you've wanted to fuck me,_ _commander._ "

He pushed himself back before Cullen could, with a sharp jerk of his hips that made him _moan._ Cullen huffed out a sharp breath, catching hold of Maenfen's hips, but it wasn't to try and hold him still—just to hold him, to ground him there while Maenfen rode him. His eyes were dark, his breath huffing out in short bursts, and for a moment, Maenfen wondered if his flush was only from arousal...or, perhaps, if it wasn’t also a bit of embarrassment, at admitting to all these thoughts he _shouldn’t_ have been having.

Cullen had always blushed easily for him, after all. But this time—Maker help him, _this time_ he talked, too.

“Your room,” he began, his voice rough, “mine. Sometimes I’d come to you, tell you I couldn’t _stand_ this anymore, couldn’t stand having you _so close_ and so untouchable. Sometimes, it was you who sought me out instead, unable to stop yourself.” He closed a hand around Maenfen’s cock again, stroking him slowly—not trying to make him come, not yet.

“Your balcony,” he continued, breathless, “so all of Skyhold could hear you scream my name when I fucked you.” Maenfen couldn’t help it—he _whimpered_ at the thought, shrill and needy, biting into his lip for a moment before gasping out, short and sharp:

“ ** _Fuck,_** Cullen.”

Cullen ignored him, but the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk that made Maenfen want to kiss him senseless—but not as much as he wanted to hear him continue.

“ _Once,_ ” he growled out, his voice low and hoarse, “in Haven. Right on the table, in the back of the _chantry, Maker forgive me._ ” He pulled Maenfen forward suddenly, and the elf gasped out a short little noise of surprise, before Cullen cut it off by _kissing_ him, hard and possessive and breathless. He was rapidly losing his grasp on the situation when Cullen let him go to breathe, and it helped nothing when Cullen’s mouth went to his ear, his teeth catching on the edge and his voice catching in his throat:

“I don’t think,” he gasped, “I’ve ever come _so hard_ as I did then, not by myself.”

Maenfen _moaned_ , helplessly, fumbling for purchase and trying not to focus on the searing image that planted in his mind: Cullen, moaning Maenfen’s name as he touched himself to the thought of fucking Andraste’s Herald in Her own chantry.

**_Fuck._**

Cullen must have realized how close he was, because he caught hold of Maenfen’s waist to push him back—planting a short kiss against his mouth, for a second—and jerking his hips upwards into him, making Maenfen gasp out a sharp little “ _ah!_ ” that said more than anything else could have. Before he could _try_ , though, Cullen moved a hand to his face, pushing his hair back out of it; Maenfen turned his head to press a kiss to his skin, and Cullen huffed out a hoarse breath.

“Want to see your face when you come, Mae,” he managed, his voice thick with arousal. Maenfen wanted to answer— _fully intended to_ —but, _fuck_ , one of them had found _just the right angle_ and all he could manage was to gasp:

“ _Oh._ ” Then, again, shakier: “ _O-oh,_ oh _fuck_ , Cullen _please, yes, r-right there, **please—**_ “

Maenfen was distantly aware of a surge of heat and _weight_ in his forearms and his hands, braced against Cullen’s shoulders, and had only a second to realize what was about to happen and try and clamp down on his magic; he managed, _barely_ , but when he came with a wordless gasp, his magic still _pulsed_ with enough force to blow his hair back over his shoulders.

Cullen barely gave him a second to even _try_ to catch his breath before he pulled Maenfen down and into a hard, possessive, _demanding_ kiss; he snapped his hips into Maenfen, burying himself as deeply as he could into him, and rolled him onto his back. Maenfen started to gasp his name, shaky and breathless, but Cullen was kissing him again before he could finish it, thrusting into him mercilessly. Maenfen barely had the presence of mind to do much more than dig his nails into Cullen’s shoulders for purchase, clinging to him and thinking _please please **please—**_

Cullen made a short, choked sound in his throat, burying his face in Maenfen’s neck before gasping out, his breath hot against the elf’s skin: “ _Mae._ ” That was all he managed before he came with a low moan, his grip shifting to Maenfen’s hip to hold him still so he could bury himself as deeply as possible in him.

Maenfen let out a short, shuddery breath, his hands clenching briefly against Cullen’s shoulders before relaxing. He fumbled for a moment before sliding his hands into Cullen’s hair, running his fingers through it. _Maker,_ he thought, his mental voice muffled and fuzzy, _I’d forgotten how **good** that felt._

For a moment, neither of them said anything, letting reality reassert itself and catching their breath. Maenfen was nuzzling into Cullen’s cheek when his breathing began to slow, and a moment later, Cullen shifted with a low, pleased noise—just a little, just enough to rest his forehead against Maenfen’s. After a second, he moved a hand to the elf’s face, gently stroking his thumb across his cheek.

Finally, Maenfen broke the silence with a whisper.

"Sweet Maker, Cullen, I've missed you."

Cullen laughed at that, short and breathless and _beautiful_.

"I've missed you too, Mae."


	3. Chapter 3

Maenfen was already awake when Cullen jerked in his sleep the next morning. The elf was about to wake him when his eyes snapped open and he drew in a sharp breath in a gasp, almost sitting up and no doubt ready to lunge for his sword—wherever he usually kept it. He stopped short when he saw Maenfen, though, laying back and closing his eyes with a short breath. Maenfen frowned, shifting to lean over him and reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Bad dream?” He’d been around Cullen when he slept often enough to know the answer. 

“They always are,” Cullen said with a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead. “Without lyrium, they’re worse.” His hand dropped, and he opened his eyes, looking at Maenfen apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Maenfen’s ears dropped. A second later, he braced himself on the bed, leaning down to kiss Cullen’s forehead.

“You can let me worry about you a little, ser,” he answered, soft. Before Cullen could protest, he pulled back, adding with a little smile, “Still a good morning overall, though, I hope?”

Cullen smiled at that, pulling Maenfen back down so their foreheads touched. The elf wrinkled his nose for a moment, then rubbed it against Cullen’s, grinning when he did the same in response.

“The best,” he answered before kissing him—not a mere peck and not deep and forceful, but something in between, lingering and slow. When he broke it off, it was reluctantly, and with a soft, shaky little breath against the elf’s lips. His hand was still at the back of Maenfen’s neck, his thumb rubbing a small circle against his skin, half-forgotten.

“Maenfen, I…” He trailed off for a moment, swallowing. “Maker’s breath. You are…I have… _never_ …felt anything like this.”

Maenfen bit his lower lip for a moment, but was unable to keep himself from breaking into a giddy little grin. “Neither have I.” He pressed his lips to Cullen’s forehead again, then breathed out softly against his skin. His chest ached, but it was a good sort.

“I love you, Cullen.”

It came out soft, just a whisper, but steadier than Maenfen had expected it to be. He had wanted to be sure, before he said anything. But...Maker help him, how could he _not_ be sure?

“I…” Cullen sounded surprised, disbelieving, and for a moment he trailed off—before let out a short, light laugh, beautiful and bright. “I love you too,” he breathed, and it sounded like something he’d been aching to say for too long, a secret he hadn't wanted to keep.

Maenfen pulled away a little, beaming, and Cullen’s hand slipped over his shoulder and down his chest. Cullen’s eyes followed it and lingered for a moment, his brows drawing together just a touch—but Maenfen didn’t say anything about it, reaching up to brush his thumb against Cullen’s chin and drawing his attention away. 

“Good. I’d be terribly disappointed, otherwise.” The elf didn’t wait for him to answer, sliding off the bed with a smile and stretching his arms out above his head with a short yawn. He heard Cullen turn over behind him, but he didn’t say anything—for a moment.

Before Maenfen could move any further, Cullen let out a soft, rough little breath and sat up, sliding an arm around his waist. “Get back here.” Maenfen yelped shortly in protest when Cullen tugged him back onto the bed, smacking his palm against the human’s arm, but he didn’t actually try to get away—and when Cullen pushed him down onto his back and bent to kiss his nose, Maenfen just snorted at him, pouting for a second before breaking into a smile.

“I have things to do, ser,” he said, trying to sound as sulky as possible. Cullen chuckled in response. 

“So do I. Later. It’s early, yet.” He brushed a fingertip against Maenfen’s throat, tracing the muscle downwards—and lingering for a second on his collar bone, not touching the scar below it even though it seemed like he wanted to.

Maenfen didn’t say anything, his own hand coming up to Cullen's. Instead of moving it away, though, he gently took hold of it and placed Cullen's fingers a little lower, against the raised Chantry sun of his brand. 

It was very faded, now, but still visible, and for a moment Cullen traced the lines of it, light and gentle like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to, or like he thought his touch might hurt. That—letting someone else, even Cullen, touch his brand—made Maenfen’s heart do a little lurch, until it settled.

“…I’ve never seen you so…” Cullen paused for a moment, frowning briefly as he searched for the word, and Maenfen smiled.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.” Cullen raised his eyes to meet Maenfen’s, questioning, and the elf sighed softly.

“It’s the past, Cullen,” he said, quiet. “It can’t define me forever.” It was still difficult to convince himself of that, sometimes, but he was trying.

Cullen was quiet for a moment, then he just smiled, looking back down at Maenfen’s chest. After a few seconds of silence, he said simply:

“It’s faded.”

Maenfen chuckled. “Scars do that, ser. Eventually.”

Cullen gave him a reprimanding look and Maenfen just grinned back in response. The human had his fair share of them; he knew as much about their fading as Maenfen did. “I know that, elf. But not this much. Not that fast.”

“They do with magic,” Maenfen answered. Then, since he knew Cullen was aware that he was no healer himself—if he had been, he would have already done everything he could to heal it years ago—he added quietly, “…one of Aetir’s healers looked at it. It might never go away completely, but…maybe in a few years, it almost will.” He sighed. “That would be nice. But, if it doesn’t…it doesn’t.”

Again, Cullen didn’t say anything. This time, he finally made a quiet sound in his throat and slid his arms around Maenfen’s waist, sliding down so he could lay his head on his chest. The elf grunted, poking his commander lightly in the shoulder.

“What, Cullen? Are you just going to keep me captive in your bed all morning?”

“Yes,” came the reply, muffled against him, before Cullen broke into a grin. Maenfen snorted, trying to sound annoyed. But he was smiling, and honestly…he wasn’t sure he would mind if Cullen actually did, anyway.

After a few moments of content silence—Maenfen began to brush his fingers through Cullen’s hair a few seconds into it, smiling at the way his commander tipped his head into his hands as he gently tugged his curls apart—Cullen cleared his throat, very lightly, like he wanted to say something. Maenfen hummed a questioning sound in his throat.

“…that’s new, by the way,” Cullen began, “With…your magic, I mean. I don't recall you doing that...before.”

Maenfen flushed when he realized what Cullen was referring to. He cleared his throat, looking away even though Cullen wasn’t looking at him.

“I…yes. It…was a surprise to me too.” He laughed, short and awkward. Cullen shifted a little to look up at him, questioning, and Maenfen sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I…suppose it’s because, in Kirkwall, I spent so long hating what I was…every second of every day, I was trying my hardest to keep my magic in check…to not be a mage, as much as was possible.”

Cullen tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss against the palm of the hand still in his hair. It was his left, and for a moment he nuzzled against the Anchor, eyes closed against its light. “What changed that?”

Maenfen sighed softly, relaxing into the bed and cupping his hands around Cullen’s face. His thumbs traced the human’s cheekbones as he answered. “…Aetir did.” He chuckled. “He...he was the first person to teach me any other way to control it.” He sighed softly. “It’s like holding on to anything,” he added, smiling a little as he recalled Aetir explaining it the same way, “hold it too tightly, and one of you will break, sooner or later. What you need is control of it: steady, but loose.” The elf flushed. “You are, um…very bad for my control, ser. As it turns out.”

Unexpectedly, Cullen broke into a broad grin at that. “Am I?” He traced a finger across Maenfen’s ribs, then moved to press a kiss to Maenfen’s lips. “Well, a man could hardly ask for a better compliment.”

Maenfen laughed shortly, breaking into a little grin of his own. “I hadn’t expected you to take that so well, to be honest.”

Cullen blinked at that, cocking an eyebrow. “Why not?” Before Maenfen could point out the obvious, he continued, kissing his cheek, “Over two decades of magical training have told you not to let your grip slip, not for an instant. In the space of a few seconds, I can make you completely forget all of that. How else should I react?”

Maenfen started to answer, but then Cullen pulled back with a little breath. “Though,” he added, his gaze drifting off to the side, “I suppose I’m probably not the only one.”

“You are, actually.” Maenfen pushed himself up, kissing Cullen’s chin. “I did say it surprised me too, didn’t I?”

Cullen didn’t answer, blinking down at him. “…you spent two years finally free, Mae,” he began, his voice soft. “In all that time, you never…?”

“It’s not so long as it sounds,” Maenfen answered. “It was a very busy two years, you know. Unlearning almost everything you’ve had beaten into your head since you were a child takes a lot of time, it turns out.” He punctuated that sentence with a short little laugh, but then cleared his throat, looking away. After a second of silence, he added, quieter, “It didn’t matter.”

Cullen was quiet for a second—trying to figure out how to respond—before he ventured, carefully, “Oh, I find it hard to believe that it never came up, Mae. Not for you.” He brushed a thumb across Maenfen’s cheek, and the elf tilted his head into his hand.

“It did, a few times. But it didn’t _matter_.” He swallowed, lifting his eyes to meet Cullen’s. He knew the question Cullen really wanted to ask, even if he hadn't voiced it in so many words. “Nobody was what I wanted.”

“Which was?” Despite Cullen’s prompting, he looked like he already knew the answer. Maenfen smiled, soft and a little shy, reaching up to cup a hand around his cheek.

“You, ser. What else?”

* * *

When he finally did manage to escape from Cullen, he first made his way to his quarters to make himself look a little more presentable, trying not to feel like he was being watched. Surely someone—more than a few someones, likely—had noticed the Inquisitor looked a little… _ruffled_ , and that this was the first time anyone had seen him this morning, coming from somewhere that was certainly _not_ his room. Someone must have noticed.

He tried not to think about it, making note of the fact that Varric wasn’t in his usual place in the great hall. He had an idea where the dwarf might be, though, even if it made his cheeks warm. He was not unaware that _some_ people had started making bets on when and how his and Cullen's relationship would progress—nor was he unaware of _who_ had organized that.

Once he felt himself properly presentable and had a moment to compose himself, the elf made his way to the tavern, firmly reminding himself to act like nothing was any different than usual.

He heard them before he even opened the door, and sure enough, as soon as he stepped in he saw Varric at the table in front of the fireplace, dividing out an impressive pile of coins—along with both Hawke siblings and Anders, Dorian, Ariawyn, Bull, Sera, Blackwall, _Leliana_ , and a few people he didn’t recognize immediately. Everyone looked up at him, and fell quiet immediately when they realized who it was, like he’d caught them doing something they shouldn’t—though Sera sniggered loudly into her hand before Blackwall elbowed her, and Selene was very badly hiding a knowing smile as she tried to look busy with a loose thread in her sleeve that Maenfen didn’t think actually existed.

Aware of how hot his cheeks were, Maenfen did his best to look as calm and composed as he could as he approached the table. Nobody said anything, tense and waiting—except for Varric, who was smirking expectantly at him.

And then Maenfen cleared his throat, saying simply: “I believe that was three royals, Varric?”

Selene’s head snapped up at that and she gasped, before Bull let out an abrupt laugh that set the whole group off. Grinning, Varric passed him the coins, adding over the group, “You know, you have inside information, Inquisitor, so this probably constitutes cheating…”

“It does not,” Maenfen insisted, unable to keep from grinning back. “I was just as surprised as anyone else. I just had a hunch.”

“A ‘ _hunch_ ’,” Sparrow repeated, the sarcastic quotes obvious in his tone, but before he could continue the door opened again and everyone looked up—to find Cullen there, looking as stern and serious as he always did. Maenfen’s breath caught—he though he heard Ariawyn gasp too, before letting out a little nervous giggle and slapping her hands over her mouth—and he bit the edge of his lip as the commander’s attention went to them. Cullen lifted an eyebrow, taking in the scene and pursing his lips after a moment.

Maenfen’s ears dropped as Cullen walked over, deliberate, his gaze having settled on Maenfen. The elf ducked his head a little, guiltily, when his commander stopped in front of him, saying simply, “Inquisitor.” His tone was back to normal, now: business-like, and a little displeased, Maenfen thought. He must have realized what was going on here, and Maenfen couldn’t exactly imagine him being particularly amused to find his Inquisitor _condoning_ it, what with his presence there...

Cullen’s attention slipped to Varric while Maenfen was thinking. He said nothing, though, simply holding out a hand expectantly as the corner of his mouth cocked upwards in a sly smirk.

Selene almost shrieked in delight and Maenfen’s mouth dropped open in shock when Varric deposited a few coins in his hand, then she gasped, “Are you _serious_ , Cullen?!” 

The commander broke into a grin, but his attention was back on Maenfen as he answered: “I had a feeling.” Lower, he added, “He has a thing for desks.”

Maenfen’s hand went to his mouth to stifle his mortified gasp as the comment—meant for him, but loud enough for everyone else to hear—his face burning as Cullen winked at him, then turned to walk back out, as serious and dignified as when he’d come in. Ignoring the laughter behind him, Maenfen scrambled after him, gasping: 

“ _ **Cullen!**_ ”


End file.
